We're In This Togther
by LolaBleu
Summary: *A little bit of Three Parts Dead from Tobias' POV* Before Tris literally fell into my life this was something I thought I didn't want. But I know now it was because it was something I thought I would never get, never deserve to have. Sometimes the worst wounds aren't the ones that bleed.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I finally wrote a little bit of Three Parts Dead from Tobias' POV. As far as continuity it falls after chapter 16 and before chapter 17. ****I'm going to say right off the bat it contains a big fat spoiler for Ch. 17. Hopefully once you read it Tobias' behavior when it comes to that topic over the last few chapter will make a little more sense. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Being Divergent should come with better perks. I should be able to manipulate reality as easily as I can manipulate a simulation. Unfortunately trying to will the people gathered in Tris and I's apartment out for the last half hour has made no difference. They are all still crowded around the huge map spread across our kitchen table bickering with each other.

Being around them means having to perform. It means pretending to care about what they have to say and my tolerance for people has always been low at the best of times. And right now, more than anything I want to scream at Shauna, but I can't because I'm a faction leader and that's not how I'm supposed to behave. And I hate it.

"Can we please just stick to what we know," I snap, annoyed at the prospect of having to listen to Shauna harp on about her paranoid assumptions about what's outside the fence for the fourth time in as many hours. It doesn't matter to her that every time she's brought it up she's been shouted down by everyone in the room except for Zeke, and that's probably just because he has to go home with her.

"Well considering we don't really know what's outside Amity, _Four_, I think it's perfectly reasonable to talk about it," she snaps back.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose and willing myself to calm. It's not much more effective than willing everyone out of our home was. I could argue with her yet again that what they taught us in school has all the hallmarks of convenient lies to keep us frightened and inside the the fence, but it would be as pointless this time around as it was the last three times.

"You know, we can make machines that sample the air and water to make sure it's harmless," Cara says, her voice distant as though she's deep in thought. "And they could be quite small; about the size of a wristwatch so they would be easy to carry."

"And what good will that do them if they're up to their knees in radioactive waste?" Shauna retorts. She's not any happier with the Erudite in the room than she is with me.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Well for one thing, if we calibrate the machines right they would never get anywhere near dangerous levels of the stuff. Otherwise I guess we'll just make sure they have iodine pills and gas masks." The condescension in her voice makes me smirk. It shouldn't, but it does. "We know it's going to be dangerous Shauna, that's why it's volunteers only."

"Unless you're me, in which case it doesn't matter," Uriah grumps from one corner of the kitchen. Despite the fact he's been lobbying hard to be allowed to go outside the fence everyone thinks it's a bad idea.

"You can always come help me, Uriah," Cara says with teasing sweetness. "I need guinea pigs to see if I can successfully remove the long lasting Erudite transmitters."

"Now why would I let you do that? That's the only thing I've got going for me," he teases back. It's true in a way. If every group going outside the fence has at least one person tagged with one of the transmitters we can - in theory - monitor their progress. Of course the fact that we've got dozens of people to choose from somewhat diminishes the likelihood that Uriah would be needed for that alone.

"Cara, add those gadgets to the list of things we'll send with our groups," Tori says, trying to get the meeting back on track.

"How many do you want?"

"Two for each group, that way if one fails they'll have a backup," Harrison says, always the calm voice of reason.

"They won't fail," Cara mutters, probably offended at the very idea that something she makes _could_ fail.

"Just being cautious," Harrison says politely, trying to smooth things over.

"Fantastic. Now that that's settled we need teams to go scout the fence," I say before Shauna can start arguing again.

"Am I allowed to do that?" Uriah asks, his voice terse and petulant.

I turn and glare at him. "Maybe if you stop acting like a fucking child, yeah." He glares back for a moment and then drops his gaze. I turn back to the group, addressing them. "Tris and I will take the south, I know a good spot there, I think."

I expect Tori and Harrison to object to my going, considering my leadership status. It's not as dangerous as going outside the fence, but the city still has it's risks; groups of Erudite and Factionless outside our control possibly, as well as sinkholes and fallen buildings and whatever mother nature can throw at us. They exchange a look, but neither of them say anything so I press on.

"When we came back from Amity we crossed the fence here," I say, pointing at the spot on the map. "There's no cover though, the buildings have rotted down to the foundations. But farther to the east I saw a cluster of buildings; whoever goes should check those out."

We quickly decide on half a dozen people, including Uriah, to carry out the necessary reconnaissance. Cara's excited because we'll get to test some her wares in the real world. I have a feeling she expects full and thorough reviews of the prototypes she's sending with us when we get back.

I feel exhaustion creeping in as Tris and Christina hand out thick manila folders full of papers. It's getting close to midnight, and this meeting won't be wrapping up anytime soon. The two of them launch into their spiel about the training program for those going outside the fence, making notes and answering questions as they go along. They've been working hard on it for a week, and that in combination with with everything else we have going on means Tris and I haven't had any time to ourselves. It's been a rare night when we get to bed before the wee hours of the morning, and when we do we're both asleep within minutes. It's part of the reason I volunteered us to check the fence.

It's one o'clock in the morning by the time they finish and if I had any illusions about people leaving once they were done talking it's wiped away immediately. Sure they're all moving towards the door, but their pace is glacial. Zeke helps me clean up, collecting all the dirty dishes while I wash them as Tris tries to politely herd people out the door.

"Surprised you didn't volunteer to go with Uriah," I mutter as he stands next to me, towel in hand to dry as I wash.

"Shauna would shit if I did."

"Why?"

"We decided on no more dangerous shit while we're trying to have a kid," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I suppose it is.

I keep my eyes on the sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes, trying to hide the disapproval and disappointment that must show on my face at the notion. It's not that I think kids are a bad idea, it's just a bad idea now, in the world we're living in. I can't imagine bringing a new life into this chaos. Apparently my efforts aren't enough.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing," I shake my head. "It's just... you two are really doing this?"

"Yeah, we are." He tries to contain his smile, and fails utterly. "It'll be good, and we all need a little good right now."

Up until now I thought this baby was about Shauna desperately trying to replace what she lost when Lynn died, and maybe for her it is, but for Zeke it's about hope; hope of a better future, a better world than the one we live in. And I can at least understand that, even if I still think a baby is terrible idea.

Shauna wheels herself into the kitchen, depositing a few empty beer bottles on the counter and giving me the stink eye. Guess she's still feeling pissy. "You ready to go?" Zeke dries one last glass and claps me on the back in farewell.

Tris turns around, a look of relief on her face, once she locks the door behind them. She shuffles toward the bedroom and I follow after her, turning off lights as I go. Once she toes off her shoes I grab her arm and turn her around to face me. Everything about her reads exhaustion.

I cradle her face in my hands, thumbs sweeping under her eyes like I can erase the dark circles there. "I'm sorry," I murmur against her lips. I don't even know what I'm apologizing for, really. Whether it's for keeping her awake last night with my nightmares or our friends laying siege to our home.

"It's fine," she says, pulling away and running her fingers through her hair. Her lips tilt up in a wane smile as she fingers at the hem of my shirt. I pull it off, giving it to her so she has something to sleep in. A minute later she's tucking the blue quilt around us and settling in my arms.

It's so routine now, laying down on my back so she can tuck herself against my side, her head on my shoulder and an arm and a leg draped across me. After everything she's still the only person I want, the only one I don't have to put on a performance for, but I hope I never take this for granted. I still don't think the Abnegation are wrong to value touch, but treating it like it's something taboo strips us of a part of our humanity. There's something inexpressibly comforting about this, something that can't be replicated with words.

I close my eyes and rub my hand up and down her back. She hums sleepily, contentedly. Even though I know I should be sleeping on the couch, and there's a part of me that's irritated at her unwillingness to let me, there's a bigger part that swells at the thought of it, that even when it's costing her something she still stubbornly won't let Marcus come between us.

Her breathing evens out, deepens as she falls asleep, her body warm and heavy against mine in a way it isn't when she's awake. It feels protective and possessive in it's way, and I like that too. Before she literally fell into my life this was something I thought I didn't want. But I know now it was because it was something I thought I would never get, never deserve to have. Sometimes the worst wounds aren't the ones that bleed.

I wait for sleep to come but I know it's futile. My thoughts are too scattered, my body thrumming with nervous energy despite how tired I am. I can't even keep my eyes closed, and after a while I give up trying. The world outside our window is rendered in silver and black, the moon illuminating it as the sun would during the day. Forcing my eyes to remain there is about as futile as trying to keep them closed in the first place. Finally I give up and let them drift to the dresser, to the bottom drawer that has a ring hidden in the back of it and let my thoughts tendril out.

I bought it after I was thrown from the train; the first day I could actually make it down to the Pit that's what I did. It has been hidden there ever since, waiting for the right time. At first I thought I was just waiting to give it to her until I could trust her to stay alive. And not that I don't have that fear, but not giving her that ring... it was never about that. It was about me, about my inability to trust anyone, even Tris.

And that was only reinforced by her telling me that if I had asked her to marry me she would have said no, that she couldn't trust me because sometimes I felt like a stranger to her even though she loved me. That was been a bitter pill to swallow, one that made silence so much more appealing than it was before that conversation.

But that isn't who I want to be. I don't want to be the person who turned on her in Jeanine's lab; don't want to be the person who doesn't trust her enough to tell her what is going on in my head, or what I am feeling. I don't want that kind of relationship with her any more than she wants it with me.

So I changed, or am trying to anyway. Because she was - is - my choice, has been my choice since I decided to stay in Dauntless. Maybe I wasn't thinking about marriage then, but when I told her I would be her family, I meant it, ring or not. It is just hard to pluck up the courage to have the conversations we need to have with the echo of her no still ringing in my ears.

Now those conversations have piled up. Conversations about what's going on outside the fence, inside the fence, between us. But Zeke was right that day we went to Erudite when he said there is no right time. And I'm done watching my life pass me by while I wait for things to be perfect. 'Perfect' is unattainable anyway, and waiting for it is an act of cowardice. Even if she says no I want her to know that, at least for me, marriage is where this is going; I want her to know that no matter what the future holds we're in this together, that I'm not going to let anything come between us again either.

I close my eyes again, pull Tris even closer and try to lose myself in her, in her scent and warmth curling around me. The next time we sleep in this bed she might have a ring on her finger. I try to focus on that outcome and not the alternative.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Guys, please be aware that the rating has changed on this from "T" to "M". There's a little plot, but mostly it's just lemons. Since I won't be posting the final chapter of Three Parts Dead until June 12th., I wrote a little prequel to chapter 20 to tide you over. So, read, review, and (hopefully) enjoy. Since this is in Tobias' POV it's a little crasser than what you're used to, but he's a guy and it's more natural that way; even if he doesn't speak that way it doesn't mean he doesn't think that way, you know? **

* * *

Tris is still in a sleepy heap on the bed when I get out of the shower, sheets and blankets rumpled around her hips and hair sprawling messily across the pillows. And I can't help feeling a little proud at the sight of her because I wore her out. It's a stupid thought full of embarrassing male bravado, the kind of thing you're supposed brag about to your buddies over beers, but knowing that doesn't make it go away.

Unlike when I got in the shower though her eyes are open, watching me languidly as I lean over her. She reaches out to catch me, one hand slipping around my neck to finger the raven tattooed on the back. "Morning," I mumble against her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them.

"You're up early."

"I have a meeting," I sigh, pulling away from her to get dressed.

"You sound thrilled," she deadpans as I sit at the foot of the bed next to a pile of clean clothes.

"Oh, yeah, _thrilled_. Every time I meet with the Abnegation leaders..." I trail off, huffing in exasperation. "Just the whole time I know they're silently judging me about Marcus, about siding with Evelyn during the war, _everything_. I fucking hate it." I was born for Abnegation and the fact that they don't think so stings, though I would never admit that to anyone, even Tris; I'll barely admit it to myself.

I feel Tris kick the blankets away and the shifting of the bed as she sits up to press her lips against the nape of my neck, right over her tattoo. I'm not even sure if she realizes how fond she is of that particular patch of skin. Still, it has the desired effect, easing the tension I feel building and replacing it with something sweeter; a persistent aching need for her that I'm so familiar with it feels like second nature. It makes me feel loved, wanted; something I never felt until her.

Her lips are always a little chapped and the rough edges of it snag across my skin as she kisses her way across my shoulder and over, sinuously moving so that she in front of me so she can continue her path across my sternum and down my abdomen. By the time her fingers tug at the knot in the towel wrapped around my hips I'm hard. "I'll be late," I say, but it's a half-hearted protest.

"I'll be quick," she mumbles, never removing her lips from my skin.

At the first touch of her tongue I lose any pretense of arguing with her. I've never been with another girl like this, so I have nothing to compare it to, but the wet, welcoming warmth of her mouth feels like heaven, and whatever she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm.

And besides, we've done this enough that she knows exactly what I want. It's a practiced pattern by this point, alternating the pull of her mouth with the stroke of her hand to give her the freedom to lick up my chest to flick the point of her tongue or the gentle rasp of her teeth across my nipple - the fact that my anatomy was similarly sensitive to hers had been a pleasant surprise - and then up to nibble on my neck and ear before going back down to bob between my legs.

But the sight of her crouched in front of me, my finger tangled in her hair to keep it out of her face, and my shirt hanging off her scarecrow shoulders is enough to make my body bow over her, enough to leave me panting and desperate. Combine that with her tongue dancing over me, searching and circling and mapping out parts of me by feel alone and her looking up at me with those dirty ice eyes eaten black with lust and I know this will be over far sooner than I want it to be.

I want to touch her, to tear away the scraps of cloth covering her and pull her up until she's straddling me, bringing me off with other parts of her that are just as warm and welcoming as her mouth. What I really want though, more than anything, is for her to touch herself while she does this. She's blushingly told me, voice stilted with embarrassment, how turned on pleasing me like this makes her. Just the thought of her small, strong hands disappearing into the fabric of her panties to stroke at herself with tender fingers makes me throb and twitch in her mouth.

Despite walking in on her pleasing herself I still haven't worked up the nerve to ask her for that yet. But it's fine. Someday I'll ask her, maybe, but for now I have this and this is more than enough. We've done this enough that she can read my body, so in the space of the heartbeat it takes for my orgasm to manifest in the hot spurt of sticky liquid she pulls away to finish me with her hand.

It's almost ridiculous how chaste her kiss is as she wipes her hand off on the towel spread out under me on the bed. I grab at her weakly as she gets to her feet, but she dodges me with a coy smile and disappears behind the locked bathroom door, leaving me weak-kneed and woozy and unable to repay the favor even if I didn't have a meeting to get to.

* * *

"Expecting a little 'afternoon delight'?" Zeke asks, a smirk firmly plastered across his face, making me regret ever telling him - however vaguely - about Tris and I having sex in here. Especially since his sage advice when I was freaking out that I'd really fucked thing up between us was 'fuck if I know'.

All I can do is stare at him stupidly for a moment before asking where Tris is. She's made a habit lately of eating lunch with me in the Control Room, and truthfully I was expecting her when I heard the door open.

"She's with Christina," he says, handing me a plate with a sandwich and salad. "She asked me to bring you lunch since, and I quote, 'he'll forget all about eating if he's coding'. You should know there was an whole eyeroll that went along with that statement, but I'm not sure if it was aimed at you or Christina."

Wordlessly, I accept the plate of food and toggle over to the security cameras in the dining hall, trying to catch a glimpse of her at least.

"God, that's creepy," Zeke mutters, settling in the chair next to mine and starting in on his own lunch.

"Everyone would do this is they could," I say flatly. It's an argument we've had more than once, his discomfort with me 'stalking' Tris on the security cameras. It's not like I am eavesdropping on her conversations intruding upon private moments; the cameras are only in public spaces where anyone could see her, the fact I am doing it through a lens didn't make much of a difference.

"She's not even there. Christina was dragging her up to her apartment when I ran into her."

I frown at the screen, tapping at the keyboard with irritation, feeling robbed after spending the morning thinking about her. More than once I found myself immersed in thoughts of her as the Abnegation leaders droned on, working out the details of turning one of the buildings surrounding the Pire into their new home.

"If you're that desperate why don't you go down to the training rooms later like Tori and Harrison do?"

"Maybe," I say indifferently. In all honesty I've been avoiding the place. I don't want people saying that Tris earned her position as a training by sleeping with me, the same way I didn't want people saying the same thing about her ranking during initiation. Still, with a free afternoon and thoughts of Tris plaguing me I find myself slipping discreetly into the training room. Harrison and David - our guard from Amity - are at the top of the room, demonstrating the proper way to use a knife in hand-to-hand combat since it's their area of expertise.

Tris and Christina stand off to the side, joining in with their pupils to learn a new skill. I can't help the surge of pride I feel seeing her; her skills as much as her demeanor set an example of the new Dauntless we're all working so hard to create. And the students in the room respect that and her. There's no whispering or fidgeting, they're all as politely attentive as the example she's setting.

Soon enough they're pairing up, striking out at each other with special knives that have a flat edge instead of a sharpened blade; it wouldn't do anyone any favors to have them gutting each other. Naturally Christina and Tris work together, but I can't watch. Even if I was under a simulation at the time I haven't been able to watch Tris like this since I assaulted her in the Control Room. Looking at her like a target, figuring out her weaknesses and exploiting them, makes me sick, reminds me too much of someone she says I'm not and could never be.

Harrison and David work their way through the crowd, patiently schooling the people who need it, and encouraging those who are doing well. After a while David makes his way to where I'm sitting on a rarely used table pushed against the back wall. His handshake is firm as he greets me.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he says, his voice deep and gravelly. He's an imposing guy, what with his height and obvious strength to say nothing of the tattoos and icy demeanor. But in private he's quick to laugh, and is fiercely loyal with a strong sense of right and wrong. I don't know if he would have gone so far as to join the factionless as I was planning on doing before the war, but he certainly wasn't happy with the way Dauntless was then.

"Thought it was about time I showed my face," I say with a shrug.

"I don't think Four is needed here. Your girl's pretty intimidating all on her own," he says approvingly.

I try to keep the grin off my face so I don't look like a complete idiot at the term 'your girl'. I'm only partially successful. "I wouldn't want to cross her," I say a little smugly. After a few minutes chatting he goes back to helping people, and I go back to watching everyone but Tris. Some of the people I know, but others are just a name and picture in a file and I take my time matching each living, breathing person up with the stack of inanimate paper I know them from.

By the time Harrison calls it a day a few of them stand out, not so much for their skill as their attitude, and not always because it's good, but I supposed it's easier to make a bad impression than a good one. As people file out the door past me they all nod or say a quiet 'hello'. It's the kind of treatment Marcus used to receive and it used to bother me, though I've kind of accepted that it comes with the territory of being a leader and made some peace with it.

Once the room is empty of trainees and she's close enough I weave my fingers into Tris' keeping her by my side as I go over the plans for next week with Harrison one last time. It's customary for our friends to give us wedding presents, but we don't really need anything. Our apartment came furnished and we've bought a few things for it besides, so we've told everyone not to bother and asked Tori and Harrison for the one thing that can't be bought: privacy. Two days to just be alone together with nothing to do and nowhere to go. They readily agreed, but I still remind Harrison that he will be aiding Christina with the trainees on Monday and Tuesday.

"Aren't you guys coming to dinner?" Christina asks, confused when I start leading Tris in the opposite direction from the dining hall.

"I'd rather stay in tonight," I say quietly, but significantly, my gaze never moving from Tris' face. "Do you mind?" Of course if she says she'd rather eat with everyone else I'd go along with it, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

"No, it's fine," she says to me before turning back to Christina. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have fun," Christina says pointedly and flounces off, probably in search of her latest Erudite boyfriend.

The compound is crawling with people, everyone getting off work and going to dinner or home so that we don't have a private moment until we're through the door of our apartment. As soon as the lock is thrown I press Tris against the wall, trapping her in with my arms and claiming her lips with mine.

She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat, but melts against me all the same. I lead her backwards through the apartment, almost falling over the coffee table in pursuit of the couch. By the time the backs of my knees slam into it she's got my shirt halfway off. "Guess you missed me too," I chuckle, the sound muffled by the layer of cotton she's pulling over my head.

"Don't get cocky," she scolds, but I can't stop laughing at her phrasing because, really. She starts to stand up, annoyed, but I cuff my hands around her thighs, holding her in place.

"Sorry," I say, pressing kisses along her exposed collarbone and up her neck. Obligingly, she lifts her arms so I can pull her shirt off and drop it to the floor with mine. "Let me make it up to you."

She groans softly in acceptance, knotting her hands in my hair not so much to guide me as ground herself. I can taste the savory saltiness of the little bit of sweat she worked up sparring with Christina, the bitter leftover perfume of her soap and lotion, and something that's uniquely her; it's elusive on her skin, but I know it will be heady between her legs.

For all the time I spent today fantasizing about exactly what I'd do to Tris when I got her alone again, all the ways I'd draw it out to revel in and worship her body, there's an almost frantic need that takes over. All too soon I find myself sliding down to sit on floor as she impatiently kicks off her jeans and spreads her legs over me, knees propped on the edge of the couch. I hold her steady with one hand hooked around each of her strong, shapely thighs.

She's still got her bra on, and I know that scrap of lace will stay there as long as possible. It makes me sad that she thinks she has anything to be ashamed of, but no matter how many times I tell her she's beautiful - not that I_ think_ she is, but that she _is_ - it doesn't change her hiding certain parts of herself from me. Neither does lavishing them with the attention I would always give them in the rare moments they're uncovered. I try not to worry about it, hoping that if I don't make an issue of it, it will become less so for her, but I don't really know if that's the right thing to do or not.

I do, at least, know what to do with the parts of her closest to me at the moment though. I crane my neck up, reaching out with my tongue to give a tentative little lick up the seam of her sex. It makes the muscles of her thighs flutter involuntarily under my hands and it's all the encouragement I need. There's something about pleasing her with my mouth that is undeniably satisfying for me. Maybe because it's all about her and harkens back to our Abnegation upbringing, the mirror image of the almost fetishization I have of watching her masturbate because it's such a selfish thing.

But with the evidence of her desire spreading across my tongue intellectualizing it doesn't really matter much. What does matter is the little moans and half-pants she's bleeding out as I lick at the sensitive bare flesh in front of me. When I reach up and slip a finger inside of her while I trace shapes around her clit she lets out a gusted breath of relief that leaves me twitching in my pants.

Her body clutches at my fingers greedily, demanding the release that my body wants just as much. A few more minutes of care ministrations later and she has it. As I squirm gracelessly back onto the couch she's still shaking with the aftermath of her orgasm. She's soft and pliant as I line our bodies up, one hand holding onto her hip and the other one keeping myself steady as she braces herself against my shoulders.

She whimpers into my mouth as she slides down over me. I toss her bra away, safe in the knowledge that in his position she won't object since she's well hidden against me. The feel of the tight, peaked tips of her breasts sliding against my chest is enough to make me groan. She wraps her arms around my neck and I help her set a pace; surging up as she slides down, taking on half the work so she doesn't have to do it all.

After initiation when everyone was settling in and pairing up I never thought I'd have this. Even after I met Tris and we finally slept together I didn't understand the big deal. Sex was a physical need like being hungry or thirsty or sleepy. It was pleasurable, but done to satiate a need. I wanted it to be this, to be consuming and essential in a way that was more vital than breathing. After a while I decided that was a fantasy, a pretty romantic lie that didn't exist in real life. And I tried to convince myself of that to temper my disappointment, but then things shifted between Tris and I, and suddenly it wasn't a lie.

I still can't explain exactly _how_ things changed. Part of it is that we're more honest with each other, less careful and more trusting, but there's something else too, something that's just out of reach; a little thought haunting the back of my brain that's as insubstantial and hard to grasp as smoke. Times like these though I feel like I'm closer to understanding it.

"Love you," Tris chokes out, rising like a swell in my arms and calling me back to reality.

"Love you too." My voice is barely coherent. I wrap my arms around her, spanning her back and grazing the scar of the bullet wound in her shoulder. Her hips jerk out an erratic rhythm, her body tightening around mine and pulling me with her. I hold her tight, snapping up into her as she tips her face against my shoulder, teeth gently worrying the bone under the flesh.

She says my name like a prayer when she comes, her body stuttering against mine and her fingers digging in where she's gripping me. It's not something I'll ever get sick of hearing, and in the moment before I come I realize after this weekend I'll always have it. But in the white hot light of my orgasm all thought is extinguished, all I can do is feel the surge of pleasure throb and pulse through my veins.

Tris collapses against me, sated and sleepy in my arms once we both catch our breaths. She rests her head on my shoulder and her fingers idly trace shapes on my biceps. Thankfully there are no tears. I rest my head against the back of the couch, nuzzling against the side of her head and letting her hair tickle my nose.

"Next time we have people over all I'm going to think about is what we did where they're sitting," she says sleepily.

"Yeah, me too," I chuckle.


End file.
